Page 27 of Dear Ripley

She rolled her eyes. “Of course that’s what you focus on. Who cares what plant it was? It’s her face and her whole persona that’s annoying.”

“Hi. I’m Ripley. I’m your best friend and I own a flower shop.”

“I hate you,” she said, resting her head on the window frame beside the door as I set about unlocking it. “All of the above. Sometimes it's twigs. Like, thick, white paper, a twig, and some bright red berries. Boom. Christmas wrapping.”

“Sounds nice.” I flung the door open and gestured her inside. “After you.”

“Quite right.” She trudged through the door, immediately beelining for the back room. “Sometimes it’s flowers—mostly dried. Occasionally she has fresh ones.”

“Great.” I dropped my things in the back room, pulling on an apron and watching Morgan grab a thick, hand-knitted blanket.

“And sometimes, it’s greenery. She was doing eucalyptus sprigs at one point.”

“Fragrant, pretty, classic. I like it.”

“Of course you do. Betrayer.” She muttered, crawling into the armchair in the corner of the store, surrounded by floral displays, and cocooning herself in the blanket.

I laughed. “Hey, you’re the one who spent all night watching her videos.”

“I know that. And it was horrible.”

“Then why didn’t you stop?”

She sighed dramatically again. “Because. Because. Ugh. Because, once you start, you can’t stop watching.”

I had a sneaking feeling it wasn’t about the wrapping. Morgan could watch every gift-wrapping video in the world and she’d still be athrow-it-in-a-bag-it’ll-be-finekind of person.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said, surly.

“Like what?” I laughed.

“Likethat. All…that.” She popped an arm out from under the blanket and gestured in my direction. “And make me coffee, please. That disgusting black stuff you drink these days.”

“Well, at least you demanded nicely, I suppose.”

“You’re my friend. You’re supposed to look after me. Especially when I’m in crisis.”

I breathed a laugh, moving towards the back again to turn the machine on. “Crisis, huh? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“What else would you call it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied, drawing the words out long enough that I was back in the room with her when I continued. “Sounds like you’ve got a little crush on a YouTuber, you traded sleep for it, and now you’re annoyed with the world because someone decided to be attractive to you, so you’re yelling at me and forcing me to make you coffee when I’m actually at work.”

“Hey. You choose to be best friends with me. If you want my company and the absolute pleasure and honor that is my presence in your life, coffee is the price you pay.”

“A modest price indeed.”

She nodded. “And I don’t have a crush,” she added after far too long a pause.

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Oh, of course not. That couldn’t be what this is all about at all.”

“I don’t even know the damn woman.”

“Watch a few more of her videos and you might.”

She froze, obviously thinking about picking up where she’d left off on the videos. “But I’m tired. I might miss something.”

“I didn’t think you were watching them for wrapping tips.”

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